Whisked Away By Her Sicilian Boss

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“You never forget, but I’m desolate for you this has happened. What will Tuccia do? Did she talk to you about it during the flight?”

“Yes. She has a plan that might work.” For a day maybe. “I’ll think of something. Don’t you worry about it. Have you told Bertina her niece is safe?”

“I drove to the palazzo to tell her in person and give her Tuccia’s letter before returning to the hospital. She was so relieved she broke down sobbing before burning it.”

Good thinking on Bertina’s part. “Have the police questioned her yet?”

“Yes. She told them she knew nothing.”

“They’ll be contacting anyone who is friends with her, especially her cook. You’ll be receiving a visit soon. Don’t talk to her on the phone.”

“No worry. I’m at the hospital now and just finished reading Tuccia’s sweet letter to me before burning it.” He had a brilliant mother. “Thanks to your willingness to help the princess escape so fast, there’s no evidence she was ever at the villa, and of course I know nothing.” He chuckled in spite of his concern for her. “Stay in close touch with me.”

“Haven’t I always? Take care of yourself, Mamma.”

“You, too. I’ll talk to you later. Dio di benedica, Cesare.”

After they hung up, he told the limo driver to take him to the main express mail outlet in Milan. Asking him to wait, he went in to have Tuccia’s letter to the comte couriered overnight to Cesare’s attorney. Rudy Goldman always spent this time of year at his retreat in Barbados. Inside the mailing envelope he put the following instructions.

Rudy.

Put a stamp on this and send it airmail immediately.

Many thanks,

Cesare.

His attorney was the soul of discretion and always did what he was told without question. When Cesare had addressed the mailing envelope, he paid the clerk who put it in the slot. Before long it would be on its way to Bridgetown. The comte needed to receive it ASAP. Cesare knew in his gut the other man would start a search for his fiancée.

She was a prize. No one knew that better than Cesare. His thoughts wandered. Not every man would be worthy of her love when she had an ancestry that had made her unique in the world. Certainly not Cesare, whose family tree might as well have half a trunk missing. What could a fatherless man bring to a marriage with a princess?

Depressed by his thoughts, he returned to the limo and told the driver to take him back to the pensione. It was the same apartment where Vincenzo’s wife Gemma had once stayed when she’d come from Florence to the castello for an interview. The padrona could be trusted.

By the time the limo pulled up in front, Cesare had made up his mind to send Tuccia to the States in the morning. The police wouldn’t find her there and he could put her out of his mind. She was on it too much already.

He got out to the pay the driver, then walked to the front door of her apartment and knocked loud enough for her to hear. “Tuccia? It’s Cesare. May I come in?”

“You haven’t left for Palermo yet?” she called out in surprise. “I’ll be right there.”

In less than a minute she opened the door in bare feet, dressed in the yellow silk robe she’d worn in the middle of the night. He could smell the peach shampoo she’d used to wash her hair. She had a brush in one hand and had been styling her naturally curly black hair.

The sight of such natural beauty would make any man go weak in the knees. Cesare was no exception. “I had a call from my mother and have been forced to change my plans.”

“Uh-oh.” Anxiety marred her features. He knew what she was thinking.

“Forgive me for making you stand there. Please come in.”

Her faultless manners impressed him. “Thank you.” He walked in the little living room off the kitchen.

She eyed him nervously. “Did the police interrogate her already? Is she in terrible trouble?” Tuccia put the hand not holding the brush to her heart. “Bertina should never have involved your mother and I shouldn’t have listened to her.”

“So far everything is all right. The police talked to your aunt who told them she knew nothing. I’m sure my mother will be next, but she’ll have no information, either. They both received your letters.”

“I’m so glad. Then why have you changed your plans? I don’t understand. But before you tell me, let me get dressed. Please sit down. I’ll only be a minute.”

He chose the chair by the coffee table while she rushed to her bedroom. Cesare caught a fleeting glimpse of her long shapely legs beneath the flap of her robe before she disappeared. He was growing more enamored of her by the second.

How could it be that after all the years of working with attractive businesswomen, he found himself in trouble just being in her presence for a few hours total. Along with her attributes, her utter femininity blew him away. It was a good thing she’d be gone tomorrow so there’d be no temptation to spend any extra time with her.

CHAPTER THREE (#u51bec55f-0cf1-566b-b156-33dae1e7d11d)

IN NO TIME Tuccia reappeared wearing a pair of white slacks and sandals toned with a café-au-lait-and-white print short-sleeved top. She sat on the end of the couch with one leg tucked under her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“As you know, the Sicilian pastry chef I’d planned to hire is in the hospital. But there’s no telling when he’ll be well enough to work again. Mamma found out he has developed an unexpected heart condition. I had high hopes for him. With his exciting creations, he would have brought a new clientele to our ristorante. Except for my mother’s cooking, there’s no one to equal him.”

Tuccia sat forward with a troubled look on her lovely face. “My zia says she’s the most superb cook in all Sicily. That means she has to know what she is talking about. What will you do?”

“Since I’m in charge of the ristorante at the castello, I’m the only one who has the authority to fix the problem. In an emergency, there are times when you have to do it yourself.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean you’re going to be the pastry chef?”

“It’ll be nothing new to me while I find someone else. But right now I’m concerned about you. Have you decided what you want to do with your life?”

A slow smile broke out on her face. “That was a trick question, right?”

The woman was getting to him. “Not at all. Since you never intended to follow through on the betrothal, what had you imagined you would be doing when you finally made your escape?”

Her smile faded. She looked away. “To be honest I only thought about how to subsist until my parents stopped looking for me and go from there.”

Cesare had assumed as much. “If I hadn’t offered you safe passage on the jet this morning, what was your exact plan when you reached Catania?”

“I was going to find temporary work in a greenhouse through an old school friend until I’m forced to move on for fear of being spotted.”

He hadn’t expected to hear that. “Are you a gardener with a knowledge of horticulture that would make you an asset at the greenhouse?”

“Of course not.”

“Yet you’re willing to prevail on the friend you mentioned to get a job there?”

“Yes. She works at the university and could help me find a position for a while. But because you told me not to use my phone, I haven’t talked to her yet and wouldn’t be able to until I reached Catania.”

“Do you have an affinity for flowers?”

Her head flew back. “Have you forgotten I’m a princess who has no knowledge of anything practical? But I’m strong and could cart plants around in a wheelbarrow if I have to.”

“I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

“I know,” she half moaned. “You’re being so good to me. I’m sorry I snapped.”

“I think you’re handling your desperate situation with amazing grace.”

She shook her head. “But it’s one I created and I don’t deserve your kindness.”

“Why do you say that? Everyone deserves help from time to time.”

He heard a deep sigh. “I guess because my parents rarely showed any kindness to me while I was growing up.”

“Did they hurt you physically?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. But their stifling, rigid rules made my life unbearable.”

“Nevertheless it doesn’t mean you’re not deserving of kindness,” he reminded her. “Just so you know, your letter to Jean-Michel has been dealt with in a way that won’t be traced to you. He should be getting it in a few days, so you can put that worry out of your mind.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re a saint.”

“Hardly.” He leaned toward her with his hands on his thighs. “I’ve given your precarious position a lot of thought. Your idea to go to Catania would only be a stopgap for a few days. I still think it would be best if you leave Europe tomorrow. I’ll arrange it.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t let you do that. You’ve done more than enough for me and have your own problem to solve right here.”

“First things first, Tuccia. You need to get far away. New York would be the perfect place to get lost. With my contacts, I could set you up in your own apartment and they would help you find a job that you would like to do. No one would suspect you’re the princess who disappeared. You’d be safe. That is what you want, isn’t it?”

“You know it is, but I’ve been thinking about the chef who’s in the hospital and how desperate you must be feeling right now. You saved my life by bringing me to Milan. Instead of putting you in an impossible position, I’d like to do something of value for you in return,” she said in an aching voice.

She had a way of running over every roadblock. He sat back and studied her for a moment, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“Why not teach me to be a pastry chef so I can work at your ristorante until he’s well and can fly here. I’d do anything to help you if I could.”

It took all his self-control not to laugh. To his shock, he had the strongest suspicion she was being completely serious. “Are you saying you know how to cook?”

A small sound escaped her throat. “No. I’m embarrassed to tell you I’ve never cooked anything from start to finish in my life, although I spent a lot of time in the palazzo kitchen growing up. The cooks were kind to me and let me watch. I washed lettuce and sometimes they’d let me beat egg whites or stir the gravy. Once in a while they’d allow me to sift the flour into the cake bowl before it was baked.”

“Does that mean you didn’t learn to cook at boarding school?”

She laughed outright. “You have a strange idea of what goes on there.”

“Actually I do know, and was only teasing.” Despite the impossibility of what she’d said, the more they talked, the more he found himself enjoying her company. Too much in fact.

“I’m relieved to hear it, Cesare. To be honest, that boarding school in France happened so long ago I’ve forgotten. All I know is, I was waited on. When my parents enrolled me at the University of Paris, I had to live with them in an apartment in St. Germain des Pres. Would it reassure you to know that I told my maid I could make my own tea and instant coffee in the microwave?”